


Let Me Show You Healthy Love

by RetroactiveCon



Series: Praying That It'll Be You [8]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Barry Allen Is A Human Vibrator, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Hartley Rathaway/Eobard Thawne | Harrison Wells, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21719911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: “Still want to stop?” he teases.Barry mumbles something along the lines of “Guh.” Hartley laughs and nips at the pulse fluttering beneath the curve of his jaw.“Who’d have thought,” he asks in between trailing kisses toward Barry’s slack mouth, “the virtuous Barry Allen would be so willingly corrupted?”
Relationships: Barry Allen/Hartley Rathaway
Series: Praying That It'll Be You [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562548
Comments: 5
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

Barry’s head knocks against the wall with a dull _thud_ and his eyes flutter closed. Hartley fights down a pleased grin and goes back to sucking a bruise into his neck. All of Barry’s halfhearted protests (“Hartley, we’re at work…someone could see…”) melted away like mist the moment Hartley kissed him in earnest. Since then, kissing has turned into making out, and judging by the erection poking against Hartley’s hip, it might soon progress beyond that. 

“Still want to stop?” he teases. 

Barry mumbles something along the lines of “Guh.” Hartley laughs and nips at the pulse fluttering beneath the curve of his jaw. 

“Who’d have thought,” he asks in between trailing kisses toward Barry’s slack mouth, “the virtuous Barry Allen would be so willingly corrupted?” The last few words are whispered against Barry’s lips. Without waiting for an answer, Hartley slips his tongue into Barry’s mouth. At the same time, he slots his leg between Barry’s parted thighs. Barry keens into the kiss and ruts shamelessly against Hartley’s thigh.

“H-Hartley…”

“Mhmm,” Hartley murmurs before kissing Barry again. He keeps the pace lazy, intent on drawing it out and driving Barry half-mad with wanting. Perhaps he ought to hurry—they might at any moment be discovered, after all—but he’s never had a chance to exchange kisses that felt this sweet. It’s a novel experience, and Hartley wants to savor it. 

Barry makes the prettiest noises as he grinds against Hartley’s thigh. Hartley skims his hands down to Barry’s ass and coaxes him to keep moving. He doesn’t need the encouragement; his pace gets faster and more irregular until he freezes up, making a sweet, sharp sound in his throat. Hartley chuckles incredulously and presses a hand to the front of Barry’s trousers. 

“You came,” he says delightedly. “Is that really all it takes?” 

Barry burrows his face into Hartley’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. His cheeks, already hot from exertion, burn with shame. “It’s connected to my speed, I’m sorry…”

Hartley turns his head so he can press a kiss to the nape of Barry’s neck. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “I’m going to have so much fun with you, and I hope…” it’s a question, or as close to one as he can get “…you want me to.” 

Barry nods against Hartley’s shoulder, his hair tickling Hartley’s neck. “I do. And, um, along those lines, you should also know…”

What Hartley should know, he never discovers, for at this precise moment they hear, “Oh God, get a room!” and the slam of a door. Hartley hides his smirk in Barry’s hair. That would be Cisco, then. He always did have the most terrible timing.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time, it’s deliberate. Barry returns from a brief and straightforward mission with a cheerful smile and too much energy. Cisco teases him about it. “All that running and you still can’t sit still. Maybe it’s time to lay off the coffee?” 

“Sorry,” Barry says. He’s shifting aimlessly from foot to foot, which would be irksome even if he wasn’t doing it so fast he appears blurry. To his credit, he appears truly contrite, or at least his blurred expression can pass reasonably well for contrite. “A mission that short feels like a warm-up. I’ll go run laps or something.” 

Hartley suggests, “We could train. I’ve made something a little—subtler, shall we say?—than my gloves, and I would like to see it in action.” 

He has, in fact, and he’s quite proud of it: a flute with a much smaller but infinitely more refined range than his gloves. With work, he hopes to perfect a frequency that will allow him to de-escalate situations with hostile metas. However, pleased as he is with his flute, it barely enters his thoughts at the moment. He has other, less scientific pursuits in mind. 

Barry must approve of that idea, because the next thing Hartley knows, he’s in the training room. Barry is standing expectantly at his side. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I just didn’t want to have to wait, and…oomph!” The rest of his sentence is muffled against Hartley’s lips. Judging by the way he opens up to the kiss, he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

“Patience is a virtue,” Hartley teases between kisses. “But in this case, I don’t mind your haste.” 

“You don’t actually want to train.” When they break apart, Barry goes half cross-eyed trying to meet Hartley’s eyes. 

“I can think of other ways to rid you of some of that excess energy.” Hartley slips a hand into Barry’s jeans. He realizes as he does that they’ve never had sex in costume and dismisses his disappointment with the thought that they’ve only recently begun to have sex at all. “That is, if you’re amenable.” 

Barry’s “Yes” trails into a garbled moan and he hitches his hips into Hartley’s hand. Hartley strokes him once, teasingly, and drops to his knees. Barry stares at him. “Y-you’re really… _oh.”_

His little gasp is because Hartley sits forward and unzips Barry’s fly with his teeth. Barry makes an impatient noise that sends a jolt of heat down his spine. Hartley takes his time easing him free of his jeans just to watch the way he ruts into every touch.

“Would you rather wait?” he taunts, every breath fanning over the head of Barry’s cock. Pre-come dribbles from the slit. Hartley makes a show of licking it away. “I said we would train, so if you would rather—”

“No!” Barry tangles his fingers in Hartley’s hair. He’s immediately repentant despite the fact that he needn’t be—it takes an effort for Hartley not to moan aloud. 

“Push me around,” he coaxes. Just to tease, he presses wet, open-mouthed kisses along Barry’s shaft. “I don’t mind.”

Given permission, Barry grabs a handful of Hartley’s hair and pulls. This time, Hartley isn’t entirely successful in stifling his moan. Barry’s eyes widen and his hips jerk—oh, that’s interesting. He likes it when Hartley makes noise. Hartley vows to return to that interesting tidbit later, somewhere they can take their time. Right now, they ought to hurry. 

Hartley takes the head of Barry’s cock into his mouth almost delicately. It’s just a tease for both of them; he’s glad when Barry pushes on the back of his head, forcing him down until the blunt tip nudges against his soft palate. He doesn’t gag. He’s had far too much practice. 

“H-Hartley, _fuck.”_ Barry rolls his hips. Hartley relaxes his throat and moves with him, letting Barry set the pace. He waits until Barry is on the edge, eyes closed and breathing ragged, to hum low in his throat. Barry comes with a cry that they must hear in the Cortex. (That thought goes right to Hartley’s cock. Everyone is going to hear what they’re doing. Everyone is going to know that he got on his knees for the Flash and loved every minute.) 

“Calmer now?” Hartley asks. His voice rasps. He feels used in the best possible way. 

Barry makes a sound that might be assent. Hartley gets to his feet and gives him a slow, lingering kiss. 

“Paging Pied Piper,” the intercom pronounces, sounding both breathless and annoyed. Hartley smiles into the kiss. “You are aware there are cameras all over STAR Labs, right?”

“Even you should know how to turn them off, Cisco,” he calls back. 

“Oh God,” Barry mumbles. He’s smiling despite his rosy blush. Hartley takes this as permission to pull him into another quick kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

For the first time in a while, they have no particular game in mind. That doesn’t stop one from arising, unbidden, from what Hartley intended as a sweet gesture. 

It occurs to him when they’re sprawled in bed, necking like a pair of touch-starved adolescents, that they haven’t taken the time to explore each other. Barry is too fast, Hartley too focused—neither of them, left to their own devices, would ever take the time to slow down and learn the other’s body. Thereupon, he changes his goal from simply bringing Barry pleasure to discovering how to do so most effectively. 

“Oh.” Barry lets out a breathy sigh when Hartley sucks on the skin below the curve of his jaw. His hand, which had been clenched in Hartley’s hair, goes slack and falls back onto the mattress. Hartley smiles against Barry’s fluttering pulse. His speedster is melting against the bed—not excited to the point of uncontrollable vibration as he so often is, but genuinely and helplessly relaxed. It’s a particularly delicious weakness that he foresees himself exploiting as much as Barry will allow. 

Barry makes the sweetest mewling sound when Hartley trails kisses down his chest. In part, it’s disappointment that Hartley forsook his neck; in much greater part, it’s unadulterated pleasure at the bruise Hartley sucks into the skin over his clavicle. His mewl breaks into a rapturous gasp when Hartley skims a hand up his side and plays with his nipple. 

“Oh.” Hartley lifts his head and grins. Barry stares back at him. Although Hartley can’t see much without his glasses, the pretty pink tint to Barry’s cheeks is unmistakable. “You like that, don’t you, sweet boy?”

“I didn’t used to— _ohfuck!”_ Hartley licks a broad, flat stripe over one of Barry’s nipples, worrying at the other with his fingertips. Barry arches his back, trying to press into his touch. “—be so sensitive, but—” The rest of his sentence devolves into a long, low moan. Hartley smirks and tugs on Barry’s nipple with his teeth. This alone was worth taking his time. 

As is only proper, he takes full advantage of Barry’s hypersensitivity: biting, swirling his tongue, blowing a gentle stream of cool air until Barry vibrates reflexively. Every new sensation has Barry’s hips rocking up against Hartley’s, uneven and needy. 

“Sweet boy.” Hartley presses a tender kiss to Barry’s sternum before kissing a meandering path down his abdomen. He murmurs praise into Barry’s skin with each touch of his lips. Barry craves praise the way Hartley once did: recklessly, desperately, shamelessly. It could lead him into danger, as it did Hartley, which is why he lavishes it on him so freely. He needs Barry to know that he doesn’t have to push himself past his boundaries to earn Hartley’s affection. “You’re good for me, so good.” 

He trails kisses along the sharp lines of Barry’s hipbones but avoids his cock. Barry whimpers piteously and rolls his hips. Hartley flattens his hands on Barry’s hips to keep him still. 

“I know,” he chuckles. His hands slide from Barry’s hips to the insides of his thighs, and he coaxes him to spread his legs wider. Barry resists for a fraction of a second, barely long enough for Hartley to notice, but notice he does. “No? Not this?” 

Barry lifts his head. Hartley can barely make out the lines of his face, save for the dark gape of his slack mouth. “No, it’s fine…”

“Barry.” Hartley allows just a hint of command into his voice. Sometimes, particularly when a game stretches on, Barry needs that little hint of command to ground him. Now is evidently such a time, judging by the pleased shiver that runs through his thighs. 

“Please don’t, um…with your tongue and my…ass…” 

He’s bashful—even without his glasses, Hartley can tell he’s avoiding eye contact. Later, he’ll ask what made him so shy. For now, he’s quick to assure him, “I won’t. I wouldn’t have—I don’t like it, either.” 

He leans back down and kisses the crease of Barry’s thigh. Kissing turns to sucking turns to biting, each change eliciting moans and breathless pleas. When Hartley repeats the process on the other thigh, Barry gasps something that might, with some imagination, be Hartley’s name. 

“Oh.” Hartley presses open-mouthed kisses along the inside of Barry’s thigh. “You’re sensitive here, too.” He lifts his head and smirks. “I wonder…do you think I can make you come without ever touching your cock?”

Barry keens. One of his hands traces down his belly, fingers splayed and greedy. Hartley catches his wrist and pins it to the mattress beside his hip. He could get free if he wanted—both of them know that—but he doesn’t try. 

“Good boy,” Hartley murmurs. He sucks a bruise into Barry’s thigh, biting gently as the urge strikes him. Barry’s heels scrabble for purchase on the sheets. To him, the rustle of fabric sounds as loud as a strong wind; it all but drowns out the sweet needy sounds Barry makes. 

“I can’t, I can’t, Hartley, I need…”

“Shh.” Hartley pushes himself up so that he can give Barry a kiss. Barry opens up to him immediately, his mouth burning hot. “I’ll take care of you.”

He slips down to lavish more attention on Barry’s sensitive chest. Barry’s hips stutter against his, vibrating sporadically in a way that makes Hartley’s mind go blank and his mouth go slack. It takes several insistent tugs on his hair for him to remember what he’s doing. 

It’s a flash of teeth, more to tease than to hurt, that sends Barry over the edge. He goes absolutely still—not vibrating, not rolling his hips—so Hartley takes charge, rocking down against Barry until both of them have finished. 

“I ache all over,” Barry mumbles. 

Hartley smiles against his shoulder. “That’s because you’re bruised all over. Don’t fuss, they’ll heal within the hour.” 

Barry shifts, dislodging Hartley from his comfortable position. “I wish they lasted longer.” 

Hartley raises his eyebrows. Of all the things he’s come to expect from his speedster, that wasn’t one of them. “Kinky.”

Barry blushes and ducks his head. His pretty eyes flick up to Hartley’s and then dart away. “I kinda like the idea of letting people know I’m yours. You know, like, in a naughty way.” 

That, Hartley muses, is a concept they’re going to have to explore in a bit more depth. This isn’t the first time Barry has alluded to liking the more illicit aspects of their relationship, although Hartley lacks sufficient information to determine whether it’s an exhibitionist streak or a fascination with the possibility of punishment. “I think anyone who would care already knows, don’t you?”

Barry nods, a sheepish smile flitting across his face. Before he can speak, Hartley gives him a chaste kiss. “But if you want me to mark you up, I’m more than happy to oblige.” 

He sucks a line of bruises into the skin of Barry’s neck. By the time the fourth bruise is blooming at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, Barry is pliant and dazed with pleasure. He makes a soft, confused sound when Hartley draws back. “You’re done?”

Hartley stifles a fond chuckle when he sees Barry’s hazy eyes. “God, you’re adorable.” 

“Oh, no, can’t you do more?” Barry tilts his head the other way, exposing an unmarked stretch of skin. It’s tempting, but Hartley can think of other things to do with his blissful speedster. 

“I could, but remember, you’re still a mess from earlier. Wouldn’t you rather I took you and cleaned you up?” 

Barry’s eyes widen. He’s never turned down shower sex, and Hartley doubts he’s going to start now. “Oh, yes please.” 

“So well-mannered,” Hartley approves, rewarding him with a kiss. Barry’s manners have never mattered to him—he’s just as pleased when he’s demanding—but he won’t pass up another opportunity to praise him. “Come on, then, sweet boy.”

He rolls out of bed and takes two steps toward the bathroom before he realizes Barry isn’t following him. Upon glancing over his shoulder, he sees Barry frozen in bed, his mouth open in a silent epiphany. “Barry?”

“I should have done the thing!” Barry blurts. He sounds frustrated and guilty, although Hartley doesn’t understand why. “The thing you did for me—kissing and touching and finding how to make me feel good. I didn’t do that for you and now I feel selfish.” 

It’s his sincerity, rather than his words, that sends a strange, aching pang through Hartley’s chest. He covers it with a crooked smile. “You did exactly what I wanted you to—lay still and let me explore. Later, I promise, you can lay me out and do whatever you want with me.”

Barry tilts his head. “Nobody has ever done that for you before, have they?” 

The true answer is ‘no,’ and Hartley isn’t sure he minds. Faux-Wells wanted his reactions, but his pleasure was secondary; the game itself came first. With Barry, he’s been more concerned with reversing that script—making their games about Barry’s pleasure, rather than the other way around—than with discovering his own preferences. “You continue to surprise me. Now come on, I promised you shower sex.”

Barry gives him a curious look that means he understood what Hartley didn’t say. With a rush of air, he’s at Hartley’s side, giving him a sweet, close-mouthed kiss. When Hartley tries to deepen it, Barry darts away. “Nope! Shower now!” 

Hartley follows, chuckling. It’s a characteristically adorable way to break the tension, and as soon as he can, Hartley will thank him for it.


End file.
